


act 1, scene 2

by jockkurthummel (procrastinationfairy)



Series: McKinley School of Arts [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-06 18:11:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4231725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastinationfairy/pseuds/jockkurthummel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Santana and Mercedes are convinced to join the Troubletones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	act 1, scene 2

**Author's Note:**

> So for those of you new to this series (as I know not everyone ships Klaine), this is an AU based off of my preconceptions of Glee before I started watching. Initially, I assumed all the glee clubs were at McKinley for some reason. Because of the nature of this series, I'll be jumping around with characters and ships. My intention is to make every story be able to stand on its own (thus those who wish to avoid certain couples can do that fairly easily), but we'll see how that goes.
> 
> Aside from that, this is my first time writing from Santana's point of view, and definitely my first time focusing on these ladies specifically. I know my characterization may not be quite up to par yet, so if anything seems off, feel free to tell me. I want to improve on this.
> 
> If you have read the first part of this series, I suggest you go back and reread it. I switched up a few things to make it work.

The whole thing started when Santana Lopez decided that she just may kill Rachel Berry.

Granted, she thought that on a regular basis--because god damn was Berry annoying sometimes--on such a regular basis, in fact, that it could probably be considered a normal part of her routine.  But the day in question was a day in which Santana was particularly agitated by Rachel and for very good reason.

Glee club practice had started out no different than usual.  Rachel, as self-proclaimed team captain, had led the group through vocal warm-ups, with half the team having difficulty taking seriously.  She began a long rant about their chances at winning Nationals with that sort of attitude that had no effect on anyone just as Mr. Schuester walked in.  At this, Santana, who had been making obnoxious faces to Quinn while warming up, straightened up a little.  

"I'm sure you all remember that yesterday was our try-outs for the Back to School Pep Assembly Glee Club Showdown," he said brightly, clapping his hands together.  Very few seemed intrigued by this prospect.  Tina, Artie, and the other freshmen recruits had already heard about how completely soul-sucking this assembly was, along with the dreary prospect of listening to the other glee clubs trudge through their set lists.  Santana herself couldn't care less--except for the fact that she had a chance at a solo.

Not a chance, really, she thought, as she examined her nails critically before reapplying her lip gloss and smirking haughtily, she had it in the bag.  She'd heard the applause at the end of her audition.  She'd been the clear winner.

"We're doing a group number and that solo song, right?" someone whispered.  Santana exchanged a quick look with Quinn, but they couldn't get out a word before Mr. Schuester continued.

"I'm pleased to announce that our soloist for this performance will be Rachel Berry!" Mr. Schuester smiled sunnily at the girl, who ate it up.  "We're also going to do some  _great_ choreography for our group number.  I think this is a good time to showcase Mike's talents as well.  I've been searching for a song that can highlight the amazing range of vocals we have in here, and--"

That's when the words finally caught up to Santana's brain, and she stopped listening.

Mr. Schuester had once again given the solo to Rachel.  Okay.  Nothing unusual, really. Santana was just . . . a little upset.  More than a little upset.  She was pissed.   _Come to My Window_ was a lesbian anthem, a song sung by an _actual lesbian_ , and, hello, why not give the song to the _actual lesbian_?  Besides, as good a singer as Rachel was, Santana had killed her audition.  Her voice fit the song a thousand times better than Rachel's did.  The solo was rightfully hers.  So, yeah, Santana was so pissed she was about to cut a bitch, preferably the bitch known as Rachel Berry.

"What were you expecting?" Mercedes murmured next to her.  Santana assumed she must have had a deadly look on her face.  (Didn't she always though?)  Mercedes shot her a sympathetic look.  "Rachel gets everything.  It's nothing new."

For a split second, though she'd never admit it, Santana felt a bit of sympathy.  Mercedes knew the pain too.  They were both killer singers, but always pushed to background by Berry's big ego.  Still, Santana had no intentions of showing weakness, so she simply made a face and crossed her arms pointedly.  Rachel obviously understood this look because she immediately launched into a rant about how Mr. Schuester had only chosen the best singer.

Bullshit.  Santana called her on it.  But it led nowhere, and she ranted to Quinn about it later at Cheerios practice.

"Mr. Schuester favoring Rachel over anyone else.  What a surprise," Quinn hummed in that tone of hers.  She gave a slight smile before taking a drink from her water bottle.  

"I know  _you're_ not complaining, what, with that total raging lady boner you've got for her--incredibly wanky, by the way," Santana added when Quinn spluttered, water dribbling down her chin, "but I have much better taste in girls, and I'm totally turned off by pretentious diva wannabes.  All I'm saying is that it would be nice for a change if different vocal talents were displayed."

Quinn nodded compliantly as she carefully wiped the water from her face.

"I wonder if Mr. Schuester is racist.  After all, it seems like it's only me, Mercedes, and Tina who get the short end of the stick when it comes to solos," Santana mused.

Quinn paused, her eyes squinting in a disdainful way.  "You can't say he's racist just because you don't get solos," she said.

Santana rolled her eyes.  She reached up and pulled her hair down from its ponytail before retying it tighter so it wouldn't slip out again.  "Not just me.  Mercedes--black.  Tina--Asian.  Obviously, there's something going on."

"I don't get solos either," Quinn said firmly.  "It's not a race thing.  It's a Rachel thing."

Santana opened her mouth to say something else to derogatory.  At that moment, Brittany Pierce saddled on up.

Santana didn't know Brittany all that well.  Sure, she had sort of bonded with Santana and Quinn at try-outs freshman year, but after they'd been put in different glee clubs, it fell apart.  The rivalry between clubs at the same school was ridiculous, but it was a part of life.  And so long as Santana intended on staying on top, she was going to be a part of the New Directions.  She wouldn't jeopardize that for anything.  Even a really cute girl.

Quinn and Santana turned to stare at Brittany for a moment, waiting for her to say whatever she'd approached them to say.  Brittany just stared back with her innocent eyes, a sweet smile on her lips.

"What?" Quinn said finally.

Brittany furrowed her eyebrows.  "What?" she replied in turn.

"What do you want?" Quinn asked.

"I don't want anything.  You two were the ones staring," Brittany said slowly.  Her eyes narrowed slightly.  "You know, staring is rude."

Quinn turned to look at Santana, her mouth open in complete disbelief, before rolling her eyes.  She reached for her bag off the bench and shoved her water bottle back in the holder.  "You know what?  I have to go.  I have a dentist appointment."

After she had gone, leaving Santana and Brittany alone, Brittany seemed to remember something.  Her face lit up, and she scrambled over to her bag--bright blue with rainbow stickers, her name written in bold black letters BRITTANY S. PIERCE, a remarkably realistic doodle of a cat--pulling out two bright pink envelopes, which also had a variety of equally bizarre decorations, though instead of her own name, these had SANTANA LOPEZ and MERCEDES JONES.

Santana raised a brow as Brittany walked back over.

"This is for you," Brittany said solemnly as she handed over the first envelope.  "And the other is for your friend."

Santana thought about saying that she wouldn't exactly consider Mercedes a friend, but she stopped herself.  What was the harm?  It wasn't like  Mercedes was awful.  She was one of the better people in the New Directions.  Plus they'd killed at their duet the last month.  It just fucking sucked that Mr. Schuester had his head so far up Rachel's ass that he couldn't see that they were the clear winners.

"What is it?" she asked dryly instead.

Brittany shook her head and held a finger over her lip.  "Unique told me not to tell anyone," she said softly.  Then, she smiled, as if she couldn't resist adding, "I think you'll like.  We'd really love to have to you.  Please?"

With that, she turned on her heels and skipped back to her stunt group to restart practice before Coach started yelling.  Santana spared one last glance at the envelopes and one last curious thought before tucking them aside and forgetting about them.

* * *

Santana's intentions with the letters were nonexistent.  She hadn't thought about them since Brittany had given them to her at practice.  For two days, they laid crumpled at the bottom of her backpack.  And then it happened again.

This time, Mercedes had suggested an Aretha song.  Before glee, she'd been gushing in the corner to Kurt and Tina about how she'd been dying to give this song a try, how she'd been practicing for weeks.  Her friends were entirely supportive, and Santana herself couldn't help but feel a bit of smug satisfaction that, at least, that song couldn't be given to Rachel because it simply didn't suit her voice.

She should have known better.

"I got the solo because I deserve it," Rachel insisted.

" _I_ suggested it," Mercedes said weakly, her voice somewhere between a sob and a scream.  "It's  _my_ song.  You know Aretha is my idol.  That would be like . . . someone stealing a Barbra song from you.  She's my Barbra."

At this, Kurt's face grew a little bit more grim.  He reached to take her in his arms, but Mercedes batted him away, determined to finish her speech.  "You throw a fit every time someone even comes close to singing something you consider yours.  Why can't you let me have this?"

" _I_ was the better singer.   _I_ won the solo, fair and square."  Rachel's voice slowly grew louder.  Half of the room winced at the shrillness while the other half didn't let up on their glares.

Kurt rolled his eyes at her, his nostrils flaring, as he patted Mercedes' shoulder encouragingly.  "You were the better singer," he said softly.  Tina nodded her agreement, as did Mike.  This seemed to give Mercedes a little motivation, and she straightened up.

Shoulders firm, standing tall, she said, "You're such a hypocrite.  I . . . I honestly thought maybe this once you'd give me this song.  Aretha is my Barbra.  But I really should have known better.  Because you did the same to Santana.  You just can't handle sharing the spotlight."  With that, she stormed out.

"That was so dramatic," Quinn remarked, rolling her eyes.

"I liked it.  Girl standing up for herself.  Respect," Santana said.

Quinn gave her look, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.  "It's just a solo.  What's the big deal?"

"You know what the big deal is."  Santana scoffed, her perfectly manicured hand tightening around the strap of her backpack.  Quinn looked as if she was going to argue, but Santana suddenly stood up as well, following Mercedes lead to the door.

Once out of the practice room, Santana wasn't entirely sure what she'd meant to do.  It certainly wasn't standing in the hallway with its puke yellow tiles and the echoes of other clubs practicing.  If she remembered correctly, the JV choir had a dance practice scheduled, booty camp, they called it.  Santana briefly considered watching that, but Hudson, the quarterback, was in that club, and nothing was worth watching his booty prance around.  She wasn't even sure how he got in a school specifically for performing arts when he could obviously perform in none of them.

The Troubletones also had a practice.  She had heard Brittany mention it loudly during Cheerios a few times, accompanied by what was either a very creepy wink or a recently developed twitch.  Crashing that was always an option.  That offered two of her favorite things: watching girls shake their pom-poms and making others uncomfortable with her presence.  But as much as she enjoyed those things, they didn't have quite the same appeal when she was so ticked.

Santana instead started towards the parking lot.  Mercedes was already gone when she got there, and she moved to sit at the bench by the city bus stop.  She suddenly remembered the letters Brittany had given her days before.  Scrummaging through notebooks, a couple changes of clothes, and some make-up, the letters were crumpled at the bottom.  Santana yanked out her own, hardly caring if it wrinkled anymore.  It was practically ruined at that point.  She wondered if Brittany had been the one to decorate it.  The answer was likely yes, and that made her feel just slightly guilty.

 _Miss Santana Lopez:_ it read,

_We are the Troubletones, the all-female acapella show choir at McKinley, and we would like to formally extend an invitation to join us._

She found herself wishing she'd remembered to grab her water bottle on the way out so she could have done a spit-take at that.

Join the Troubletones?  Why?  They were a notch lower than the New Directions on the social totem, so, uh, no?  And no thank you with that because it's not even a decent offer?  Why would Santana give up her position as one of the HBIC of McKinley?

Then again, she wasn't really a HBIC.  After all, Rachel controlled everything.

"Screw Rachel," Santana muttered, her nails making little indentations in the paper.

_Our team has recognized your vocal talents as superior, and your athletic activity in the Cheerios shows a great deal of coordination.  As such, these things lead us to believe you would be a remarkable asset to our group.  The Troubletones have won several Regionals titles, and our goal for this year is to take the title of the National Acapella Show Choir Champions.  If you were to lend your talents, this would be in our grasp._

_The Troubletones believe it is very important to showcase the talents of every member involved, as each of us gives her heart and soul to our performances.  Solos are distributed as equally as possible, accounting for skill and vocal type, and our choreography offers girls who focus on the dancing aspect of show choir a chance to shine._

_You are welcome to attend any of the upcoming Troubletones meetings if you wish to gain a better understanding of our activities._

_Sincerely,_

_Unique Adams  
Troubletones Captain_

Underneath all that, scribbling in a variety of crayons, was  _u r cute. we shud totes b friends._ That had likely been added by Brittany, and Santana's stomach fluttered at the words. _  
_

It was a crazy idea, really.  No one in their right mind would give up a place in the New Directions for the Troubletones.

Santana reminded herself to hand the other letter to Mercedes.

* * *

"I knew you'd come!" Brittany said excitedly when Santana walked through the door the next Thursday.  Her face was bright as she bounced on her heels.  The red-haired girl next to her smiled fondly, though exasperatedly, and pulled her back.  Santana looked around the practice room skeptically, eyeing the barrage of dark curtains surrounding a open area that must have been the stage.

"This . . . isn't a joke, right?" Mercedes asked from behind her.  "Like--we're actually invited to be in the Troubletones?"

A dark-skinned girl peeked out from one of the curtains.  "Yes," she said slowly, stepping out and untangling herself from the drapes.  "I'm Unique, the captain.  And we're very glad to have you."


End file.
